


Put My Finger On Your Tongue 'Cause You Love To Taste

by convolutedConcussion



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/M, File Under: Really Shitty Timing, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-11 00:34:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7868146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In all honesty, after everything with securing Waverly and preparing for the rescue mission and <i>executing the rescue mission</i>—after all the absolute horrible shit they’ve been through in the last few weeks, the absolute last thing that should be on Wynonna’s mind is sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put My Finger On Your Tongue 'Cause You Love To Taste

In all honesty, after everything with securing Waverly and preparing for the rescue mission and _executing the rescue mission_ —after all the absolute horrible _shit_ they’ve been through in the last few weeks, the absolute last thing that _should_ be on Wynonna’s mind is sex.  She’s _aware_ what she should be doing is going to her couch and _sleeping_ but he’s right there and he’s _alive_ and for all her bravado she didn’t _really_ think this would happen.  So, instead of making any one of the dozen sensible choices here, she manages a quick, “Can I just…” before their mouths crash together and she feels with a sick twist the moment he freezes, but then he’s moving into her, pressing her into the door hard enough to hurt but it’s good and real and _awesome_.  Without breaking away, he dips down to lift her up and her legs lock around his hips.  He still smells like acrid smoke under layers of perfumey hotel soap.  Whining, she tugs his shirt up over his head, runs her hands down his back and chest and touching as much of him as she can reach until he comes to his senses—because he _will_ —and goes cold and quiet and distant.

When he nips and trails his way down her throat, her head falls back hard enough to crack against the door and she feels the pain in a weird distant way.  Mostly she just whimpers when he stops.

“This is a bad idea,” he says gruffly.

“We don’t have to,” she whispers dazedly, focused on his spit-slick lips.   She drops her forehead down against his.  “For the record,” she continues, “I don’t want you to stop.”

That seems to be enough for him because next thing he’s kissing her again, hard and biting, as he carries her away from the door, not even fucking _wobbling_ and she’s not too distracted to be _amazed_.  He drops her onto the bed and she falls with a quiet _oof_ as she grabs him by the hem of his jeans to tug him back on top of her.  He crouches over her as she undoes them, other hand snaking around to grab his ass through his jeans—before she can do anything more, he’s grabbing her wrist, pushing her arm over her head and twining their fingers together, smiling into her lips when she huffs indignantly.  She hikes her leg up over his hip to pull him flush against her, sighing when he rolls into her.

Their kisses grow hard, quick, as he shoves her shirt up to her chin, and she arches into his touch, achy and needy.  She shoves him over onto his back, climbs across his lap and makes short work of tossing her shirt, then bra, off into some corner.  He gazes up at her, eyes intense and heavy as his hands slide up her sides, palming her breasts, before hooking behind her neck and dragging her back down.  She grinds down on him, relishing in the throaty groan it elicits.  He rolls up against her, hot even through layers of clothes but not nearly enough.

“Fuck, Wynonna,” he rumbles when she flops off of him, propping himself up on one elbow.

Grinning sharply, she yanks and writhes her way out of her jeans and lurches up to mash their lips together.  She feels his fingers trip down her belly to stop between her legs and she hikes her knee up over his hip and rocks against his hand.  When he falls onto his back, she follows, chasing pleasure as his finger presses into her and not fully able to bite back a gasp.  She can’t help the way her whole damn _body_ quakes when he curls his finger inside of her.  Letting out a stream of curses, she pushes up with a hand planted on the center of his chest and shoves her hair back.

There’s a moment when everything kinda slows down, when she reaches with the hand that isn’t keeping her balanced to stroke over his cheek, his jaw, and it’s too gentle and too tender against the hard edge of her desperation.  It’s only a moment, though, and then he’s sitting up like he’s doing a stomach crunch, lips and tongue and teeth grazing over her collarbone, throat, chest, as another finger is pushed into her.  She moans, digging her nails into anything she can grab.  Heat coils in her gut and she’s so _close_ it’s so _good_ and her orgasm hits her almost out of nowhere—toes curling, muscles tensing, vision almost going black, she whimpers and moans and lets out a stream of maybe nonsense until she’s shivering with aftershocks and it feels like an _eternity_ until it stops in the best way.

She whines when he pulls his fingers out, closed lips pressed to his forehead until he leans back on his elbows and looks up at her.  Letting out a shaky breath, she pushes him flat and bends to smile against his throat.  He gives a satisfying little rumble when she sucks a kiss there, wiggling against the erection she can feel pressing through his boxers.  She bites and kisses her way down his chest as she wraps her hand around his clothed dick.

Not really wasting any time teasing, she slips into his boxers and frees his cock, scooting down until she’s comfortably nestled between his legs.  Eyes catching his, she licks a line from base to tip before taking him into her mouth, feels his fingers tangle in her hair as she bobs her head and follows her lips with her hand, strange smugness swelling in her chest when he lets out a loud moan.  She watches his head fall back, choked-off little noises egging her on.  His grip tightens almost painfully when he cums, spilling hot and thick over her tongue and crying out.

Swallowing, she noses at his hip for a few moments and watches the quick rise and fall of his chest until he tugs her up.  She back crawls up the length of his body and crashes half on top of him, pushing her face into the crook of his neck as he strokes down her back.  She stays like that until a long time after his breath steadies before murmuring, “I’m not moving.”

She’s not sure what she’s expecting, but the full-belly laugh she gets in response isn’t it and she pushes up just enough to look at his face.  He smiles, big and open and heart-wrenchingly warm, kisses her gently, and orders, “Get some sleep, Earp, we still have work to do.”

Falling back against him, she huffs, “I can’t _believe_ you can think about work at a time like this.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Just some regular old holy-shit-we-aren't-dead sex. As you do.
> 
> Anyway, swing by my [Tumblr](http://johnisntevendead.tumblr.com) where I complain, loudly, about how hard writing porn is and cry over fictional characters.
> 
> Title from Sweater Weather by The Neighborhood.


End file.
